"Oh! it is near St. Luke's Church, mamma—Mr. Atherton's church. Why, it is the very house the Athertons lodged in till the vicarage was ready."
"So it is. You will find the Athertons pleasant neighbours," Lady Monroe said. "They will be nice friends for you, I hope; and the church is a very nice one. I daresay Mr. Atherton will be glad of your help in the Sunday school."
The carriage drew up as she was speaking, and the footman looked down from his seat doubtfully.
"Yes; this is right," said Lady Monroe. "Good-bye, my dear. I am so glad I met you."
"A sweet, gentle girl," Lady Monroe said, as Salome, having expressed her thanks, disappeared behind the little wooden gate. "It is very sad for them all. What a change from that lovely place, Maplestone Court, where I saw poor Emily Wilton last year!"
"Yes," said Eva; "to lose their father and money and position."
"Not position, Eva. A gentlewoman can never really lose position in the eyes of right-thinking people. I feel a great interest in the Wiltons; for their mother is, I should think, but little fitted to struggle with adversity; she was never strong."
"I wish we were not going to Cannes, mother, and then we could often go and see them. Oh! I do not want to go away; my cough is quite well. It is so hard to go. Think how tired we were of the life there last year." And a cloud of discontent came over the fair face of the delicately nurtured girl, who had all that loving care could suggest to brighten her life and soften the privations which delicate health brings with it to the young.
It must strike us all, old and young, when we look round upon the lives of others, that there is a crook in every lot, and that God will have us all learn the lesson of "patience,"—patience which can make the crooked places straight and the rough places smooth.
Salome found Stevens had set out tea on a little table in the dining-room. The tea-pot had a cosy over it; and a plate of thin bread and butter, cut from one of Ruth's fancy loaves, looked inviting.